


The Rogue Knight

by Drakojana



Series: Good Endings Are Overrated [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: (One day the tag will make sense), Anti is still not in it per se, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jack is pretty delusional, M/M, Mark is a bad cop, Past Abuse, Psychological Thriller, Stockholm Syndrome, Stockholm!Jack, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, detective!mark, no smut this time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-10-20 12:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakojana/pseuds/Drakojana
Summary: Seán has suffered a great damage, one that cannot be undone. But a cheap substitute seems to work, anyway.Fischbach just wants to do prove himself to everyone, unaware of the fact that he is not the one playing the game.





	1. In the arms of a stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The insanity can be waiting just around the corner.  
> And the disguise it chooses is the last thing you expect it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so afraid as I post this chapter, mostly because I'm worried the readers may not like where I'm going with this...  
> Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy the continuation of this wicked adventure!

The dark-haired man closed his eyes, sighing. This person was holding him so tight like a child scared of the dark… They looked so defenseless. It was no surprise, considering all they'd gone through. Their unkempt green hair was covering a part of their face, fluttering with each breath.

The detective was still trying to sort out everything that had happened ever since he had found them. His mind was a buzzing mess, thoughts all over the place. He really needed a damn break, but at the same time, he couldn’t let himself do that. Not after the latest discovery.

* * *

"He's gone!" someone shouted down the hallway; one of the detective's subordinates had already reached the "office" sooner than him. He only grimaced at the information.

"Again? Fuck, how many times will he get away?!" The man with hazel eyes stomped angrily, looking around at the cells. All of them were filled with people locked against their will and he couldn't even guess for how long they'd all been down there. That wasn't his concern at the moment, though. As he slowly strolled down the hallway, all of the prisoners stared at him with eyes wide open, dumbfounded. He wished their reaction was purely because they hadn't seen an outsider in weeks, yet he knew that wasn't exactly the case. The detective sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to take it all in.

"Mark? I think there's some stuff worth investigating," his wingman, Wade, said and peeked out of the room at the end of the corridor.

The dark-haired man didn't have the patience to tell him it was useless. That the criminal they were after didn't leave any clues, any evidence behind. _Dark_ , as they called him, was elusive, yet always repeating the same pattern. The detective had been onto his case for as long as he remembered; but he could never catch the psychopath. Because that was what Dark was - a madman that imprisoned dozens of people for his own entertainment, making them do inhuman things. Mark shuddered at the thought and hoped he wouldn't find _the playroom_ \- he'd recognise it just by the smell alone. It had to be close because he could pick up a faint scent of intestines and various bodily fluids in the air.

"Mark?" Wade asked again, now stepping out into the hallway with a concerned look on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. Heard you. I'll check it out later, for now, we have to take those people to safety," the dark-haired man murmured and with a swift kick opened the cell door that was closest to him. He'd done it so many times it became like a second nature to him. The people in the cell kept staring at him, and Mark only motioned to his own men who were waiting by the exit. "Escort them to the truck."

The next hour passed on with letting the prisoners go. They all were eyeing the detective suspiciously but were never brave enough to look him in the eyes. Nobody said anything, yet everyone among the policemen knew what was going on. They knew better though and stayed quiet. The rumours of detective Fischbach’s short temper may have been exaggerated but nobody was willing to test the theory.

Mark walked down the now empty corridor one last time when he spotted someone in the corner of the last cell. The person seemed not to be interested in the intruders, sitting with their knees drawn up to their chest. They were rocking slightly, mumbling something to themselves. The detective kicked down the door without hesitation.

"Hey, you. You're free now."

The person stiffened at the sound of the dark-haired man's voice. They slowly turned around, and in the dim light of the cell Mark could only see their eyes - they were bright blue, filled with some unidentified emotion. They stared at each other for a moment, before the prisoner launched forward, in one second being right next to him, wrapping their arms around his waist and burrowing their head in his chest. The detective couldn't even say anything because not even a second passed and the person - a green-haired man it seemed - started shaking uncontrollably. He couldn't feel it through the layers of his uniform but he supposed the prisoner was crying.

Mark knew his job policy - he was not there to give the victims comfort, so he didn't return the embrace. He only put his hands on the man's shoulders, getting his attention.

"I understand what you've been through, now you'll be taken proper care of," he kept his voice steady and professional, the procedure was always the same. He was there only to get the leads on Dark, rescue the victims, and go back to his office, trying to solve the mystery of the next location the psychopath would be hiding in.

The green-haired man finally looked up at him, and the second time they locked eyes Mark recognised an unnatural emotion hidden in them. He only whispered a quiet "oh no," when the man's mouth twitched, forming a twisted smile.

The detective cursed himself for not noticing it earlier - the ragged clothes the prisoner was wearing were covered in blood. His big blue eyes weren't wide with fear. No, it was a completely different emotion. One that Mark had seen before but hoped he would never see again. It was the glint of madness, one that came from a long process of breaking someone down.

The man in front of him was one of the _pets_ \- a chosen one among Dark's prisoners that had been treated like some sort of a wild animal and forced to do anything the psychopath found entertaining.

His eyes were shining with anticipation and hunger, awaiting the next game. But what was unique about him, and what repulsed the detective the most, was the fact that the prisoner wasn't looking at him the way a predator stared at its prey. No, the stare was faithful and patient; the look in his eyes told Mark that right now he was the new _Master._

"How…" the dark-haired man only mumbled, not believing his own eyes.

Dark has always worked the same way. Each case was nearly the same as any other. No exceptions. This time, he also assumed there would be nothing significant that was different.

But the green-haired man was clear proof that the detective was wrong. Dark would always kill his pets before fleeing off to somewhere. He never let them live, usually leaving their dead bodies on display. But this one was still alive. Left to be found.

"You… You came back…" Mark snapped from his thoughts, hearing a raspy voice under him.

"You didn't leave me…" the man kept drawling, new tears forming in his eyes.

The detective heard some footsteps from behind and guessed it was Wade - his co-worker, although they weren't technically partners in that case, would always stay behind everyone and make sure Mark was alright. The dark-haired man's suspicions were quickly proven correct as the other one spoke up.

"I-is he…?" Wade asked in a quiet voice, staring at the green-haired man that was still clutching the detective's body.

"… Yeah. I think so."

"We might need to check for someone named _Jack_."

Mark gave his fellow policeman a questioning look.

"There was a name back there…" Wade motioned in the direction of the room at the end of the corridor.

"No need. I'm pretty sure I know who he is. There was only one person with _this_ hideous colour on their head reported missing lately," the detective muttered. "Unless that bastard now thinks dyeing their hair is funny."

"… Yeah. Though why is he…"

Wade didn't finish his question. For a moment silence fell between them. Nobody said anything as the question hung in the air.

Mark had heard it before, he didn't need to reminded of it again. The prisoners' distrustful, sometimes even spiteful glares, their murmurs and now those big blue eyes staring at him hopefully. They all kept telling him that one thing the detective hated the most.

When he finally walked away, hearing faint footsteps of the person following him, Wade avoided his gaze. Because everyone who had ever worked on that case knew it as well. Mark found it ironic, in a way.

That the criminal supposedly looked like him. Like the monster he'd been chasing all the time was him all along.

But something else whispered at the back of his mind, in response to these thoughts.

_Now you have a lead. For the very first time, you have a goddamn lead that will finally help you catch that fucking psychopath._

* * *

As much as Mark wanted to start the interrogation as soon as possible, there were quite a few things that were stopping him. He was never a patient man, so he nearly dragged the green-haired man to the clinic. He just needed a doctor to do a check-up on the prisoner so that his boss wouldn't rip his head off for neglecting his wounds.

The dark-haired man was one damn lucky bastard, as he was acquainted with a rather nice female doctor, who certainly wouldn't mind a police detective barging into her office with a total stranger. Amy Nelson, as she was called, had no patients at the time Mark decided to waltz right into her room.

"Amy, I need you to check his injuries," he said as he pushed the green-haired man he'd taken with him inside the office.

The doctor looked up from a book she'd been reading and gasped as she saw the two men.

"Mark, what in the world--"

"Please," the detective gritted through his teeth as if saying that one word caused him physical pain. "This cannot wait."

"I just wish you'd warn me before…" the blonde woman put the book down and let out a small sigh. "A quick call wouldn't hurt, you know?"

"I don't have time for that."

"Where did you find him, even?" she gave the smaller man a concerned look.

"Are you sure you want to hear the answer to that question?" Mark raised an eyebrow, leaning against a wall.

Amy only rolled her eyes and got up from her chair.

"Please, have a seat. Your leg doesn't look too well," she said to the green-haired man and eyed the detective, who averted his eyes.

"Just get on with it," he huffed in annoyance.

"This will be a quick examination," she gave the prisoner a faint smile, though he didn't respond. "I need to ask you a couple of questions." She picked up the questionnaire that Mark had tossed to her and glanced over at him. The detective only nodded, signalling that he was listening.

"First, your full name is Seán William McLoughlin, is that correct?"

The green-haired man was staring blankly at the hands in his lap, sitting silently. Mark sighed.

"Please answer the questions."

To his slight disgust, the prisoner's head shot up at his words and he could swear he saw a glint of excitement in his eyes.

"Ye-yes,"

The doctor nodded absent-mindedly and went on to the next bullet from the list.

"You were born on 7th of February, 1990 in Athlone in Ireland?"

"Yes."

"And you have moved to America a year ago?"

"Yes."

Mark knew all of that already - even through his dishevelled appearance, it was without a doubt the person reported missing three weeks ago. They only wanted McLoughlin to confirm all of that so that they were sure he hadn't suffered any major brain damage. Thankfully, the trauma didn't seem to affect his memory. The detective felt relieved, aware that his own questions were just piling up.

Soon Amy was done with the mental check-up and asked Seán to stand up. She still needed to examine him in detail to write about all of his physical injuries for the protocol. While he had clearly gone through a lot of abuse, his life was not in danger, thus they didn't have to send him off to the hospital immediately.

The doctor motioned to Mark to leave the room but the green-haired man caught on that.

"No… I don't want to be alone…"

"It's alright, Seán," the blond woman tried to reassure him with a gentle touch, yet he only flinched away.

"Please stay here," he stared at the detective with teary eyes.

Mark knew he didn't have too much of a choice, though he didn't feel like watching the Irishman get undressed. He turned around and mumbled.

"Fine, but don't look at me like that, please."

"Do you not mind him being here?" Amy started by examining his chest, so she had a nurse help Seán take his shirt off.

"I don't ever want to be alone again," the green-haired man muttered and hissed when the doctor touched a particularly nasty bruise.

"You're not alone. But I understand if a presence of another man soothes you."

Seán shook his head. "It's not about some another man, it's about _him_."

Amy shot Mark a questioning look to which he only responded with a shrug and a scowl.

"So what will you do with him next?" she kept writing down all the notes on the Irishman's condition.

"Start the interrogation as soon as possible," the detective didn't hide the annoyance in his voice, the whole examination taking too much time to his liking. "I can't have him forget any details."

"But…" the blonde woman looked at him with worrisome expression. "You'll take him to Signe afterwards, won't you?"

Mark rolled his eyes in response. "Once I'm done with him."

Amy looked like she wanted to say something else but then their attention got back to Seán, who bent over, holding his stomach and made a pained sound.

"Seán? Are you alright?" the doctor motioned to the nurse to grab the trash can with the bag. Just as she guessed, the green-haired man hastily took the bucket and threw up everything that was in his stomach. His vomit consisted of blood and some other unidentified food that did not resemble usual meals.

As he kept coughing and retching, Mark carefully observed him like a hawk. To him, the Irishman could be a victim but he had been under Dark's influence for long enough, especially as a _pet_. The detective had already encountered aggressive and unstable prisoners before, so he knew McLoughlin could be no different, if not worse. So the dark-haired man felt he needed to be ready, assuming he could attack at any moment.

"T-there's something in here…" the nurse said in a wavering voice, looking into the trash can after Sean sat back on the chair, his forehead covered in cold sweat. She fished an item from the bucket and cleaned it off. As she handed it to Mark, her hands were clearly shaking; the detective didn't blame her, her wide eyes were telling him she had her own ideas about the contents of the vomit.

"What is this?" he muttered, not being particularly interested in the insides of a human. But then he noticed that it was some kind of a vial, so small it could actually be swallowed. As soon as he saw what was written on it, he snatched the thing from the nurse's hand.

_To the Dear Detective_

Mark snarled. Whatever it was, it was clearly addressed to _him_. The vial was made out of simple plastic, so he opened it with ease, revealing a neatly folded note inside. He threw the plastic into the bin and unfolded the paper.

The dark-haired man's eye twitched. He could hear the monster's voice in his head mocking him as he read it. Dark was probably laughing in his face right now, and McLoughlin's hopeful look in his eyes only proved that Mark was still losing the game.

* * *

The detective looked down to his lap. Seán's messy, dirty hair moved with his each breath, the unkempt fringe fallen over his eyes and reaching his mouth with its length. When he had his eyes closed, Mark thought, he truly looked like someone who'd just been rescued from a deadly situation.

 _My only lead,_ the dark-haired man thought, gritting his teeth. _My only fucking lead after all those years of nothing._

The Irishman shuffled, and a corner of his mouth moved up. He was probably having a nice dream, though the way his right hand was twitching made Mark wonder just what kind of a nightmare would be now pleasant for him. When the green-haired man unconsciously moved his hand up the detective's thigh, Mark grabbed it and pulled away. In the other hand he was still holding the crumpled-up note. It kept mocking him. He'd read it so many times yet that did not stop him from unfolding it once more. He glanced at Seán again and wondered just how much it was true.

 

_Take care of it for me, will you?_

_Careful though. It may bite._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Surprised much? :)  
>  OnyxWishes kinda guessed that there would be a Mark in this story :p 
> 
> I know I promised answers... But that would be no fun without piling up the questions first!
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated!


	2. Little flame that we pretend doesn't glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's not about the things you do  
> But about the things you _decide not to_ do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (YES I CHANGED THE TITLE OF THE SERIES)

Mark wasn't sure how to start. Or where to start at all. He had been dragging Seán with him from place to place, too many questions piling up in his mind. Once they finally got to the police station, though, things went smoothly. Without batting an eye at anyone in the investigative department, he lead the green-haired man into his own office. A very surprised Wade looked up at him.

"Mark! Where have you been, man?" The taller man cocked an eyebrow. "I… thought you'd be in the middle of the interrogation by now."

"I would be if people would just leave me the hell alone and let me work!" The dark-haired man huffed, walking up to his desk and finally letting Seán go.

"Well, what did you expect? You're directly in charge of this case, and the first few days after a new discovery are always hectic."

"Yeah, yeah," Mark muttered, patronizing the man. "Now, are you going to be an ass too, or will you leave?"

"It's my office too, you know…" Wade grumbled, rolling his eyes. Nonetheless, he left before his fellow policeman could direct any more snarky comments at him, shutting the door behind.

The detective eventually turned his gaze to the Irishman, who was still standing with a dumbfounded look on his face. Mark groaned thinking of what lay ahead and motioned to the chair by Wade's desk.

"Move that thing over here and sit down."

As Seán did what he was told, the dark-haired man rummaged through the metal drawers in a cabinet behind his chair. After he took some sheets of paper out, he somewhat reluctantly turned back to the green-haired man.

"Let's start from the beginning," Mark's eyes bore into Seán, and the victim fidgeted with his hands in his lap. "What is the last thing you can remember doing before the kidnapping?"

"I was in my apartment," The Irishman replied quickly. He kept shifting in his seat. "Playing, uh, video games before going to sleep."

"And?" the police detective scribbled down the basic information in the protocol.

"… Then I woke up… in the prison."

"What day was it?"

"Uh…" Seán glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall. It was already April. "The 24th of March."

Mark had noticed him looking up the date, so he eyed the man suspiciously.

"Are you sure?"

"It was... Friday, right?"

Without acknowledging the question, the dark-haired man continued writing.

"Your neighbour reported you missing three days later, on the 27th. According to them, you weren't answering the doorbell or your phone. And none of your acquaintances could confirm your location."

The Irishman narrowed his eyes, hands curling up. "Who?" He asked quietly but sounded like he was having a hard time holding volume back.

Mark raised an eyebrow but decided to pay it no mind. He decided to continue, not in the mood for dragging things out.

"What was your first memory in the cells then?”

"Hearing the others talk, the sound of the water, and my leg throbbing.”

"So you don't remember how you got injured?" The detective pointed at the swollen leg, somewhat critical.

Jack shuffled his feet, a slight blush appearing on his face as he shook his head.

"Were the surroundings familiar to you?"

Another shake of the head as a response.

"Now, I want to ask about this kidnapper…" Mark had been serious before, but now his voice had dropped completely in tone as his gaze fixed on the Irishman. "When did you first encounter him?"

"Why are you asking me this?" Seán drew his eyebrows together. "I-I-I mean…" He stuttered, backtracking as if he regretted his tone and lowering his gaze to the floor. "I couldn't tell the time."

"Do you at least feel like you were missing for three weeks?" Mark rubbed his forehead, exhaling.

"I can barely remember a week. Were we...really down there for three?"

The dark-haired man stopped writing and slowly raised his head to send the Irishman a glare.

" _We_ weren't there," he tried not to sound angry but was failing. That slip had ticked him off. "Only you."

"Ah, right. S-sorry.” Seán bit his bottom lip and mumbled something under his breath.

"This is going nowhere…" the detective put the pen down and ran his hand through his already messy hair.

Mark wasn't sure himself why he'd decided to put up with this whole farce. He could’ve told McLoughlin at any time that he was not who the Irishman was taking him for. In fact, in he probably should've broken the illusion for fear of punching the victim in the face. He may have had only his short temper to blame but something about the look in Seán's eyes was downright ridiculous.

Yet at the same time, the detective felt that he couldn't just admit to being a completely different person like that. He doubted that McLoughlin would be as cooperative if he was told that Dark was a criminal, and Mark was a policeman trying to catch him, and that there was no relation between the two of them. The dark-haired man could write it up to his intuition, but the unhealthy attachment Sean was showing looked like a case of Stockholm syndrome. And past experiences told Mark that the moment the Irishman learned he was being interrogated by a simple police detective was the moment he would put all of his defenses up and refuse to speak another word.

Maybe it was just cheap and dirty, taking advantage of a victim and letting him idolize him like that. But Mark was too tired. Too many years had been wasted on Dark's case without any hints of a lead. He was ready to use even the lowest of tricks just to get a bit closer to capturing the psychopath. Of course, he would never actually verbalize that he was that... that _Warden,_  but as long as he could keep the Irishman fooled, he wasn't breaking the facade.

He took a deep breath, letting himself calm down. When he felt the sudden wave of anger leave his body, he picked up the pen again.

"Can we at least talk about the abuse?"

"Um…" Seán's eyes darted across the room, unable to meet Mark's gaze. "Do I have to?"

"It would be _useful_ , yes."

Somehow, after that single request, the green-haired man looked up. Something new sparked in his eyes; they lit up, not looking so dead anymore.

"Just one thing," the detective added, noting the odd excitement. "Refrain from mentioning any particular names or pronouns.”

The victim, although confused, nodded. “First… I think I got a broken nose. After the leg injury, I mean," Seán paused when he realized he was biting his lip. "Then I was kicked a lot. Any time I wouldn't listen. Did he-they break my arm…?" Mark eyed the limb in question. There was a slight swelling in the middle of the forearm but it didn't seem to be broken, Amy's examination proving so.

Mark leant forward, making sure to catch those blue eyes.

"What about emotional abuse? And sexual?"

"N-no, I-I just…" Seán was clearly becoming uncomfortable. "I didn't feel like it b-but…"

"So it _was_ rape," the detective straightened his back, already knowing that the Irishman wanted to avoid answering. "Multiple times?"

"O-one time?" Seán didn't sound sure, so Mark pressed on the matter, already regretting his next sentence.

"I’m the one asking here.”

"T-t-two."

The dark-haired man gritted his teeth. He hated the fact that he had to get the answers out of McLoughlin like that. He thought about calling the whole interrogation off before one last question popped into his head.

"Can you recall any times where the kidnapper would display positive feelings towards you?"

The way the green-haired man's face lit up and the hopeful look in his eyes were more than disconcerting.

"Y-yes!" he exclaimed excitedly. "I-it was fine, in the end, I know you care! I don't mind!"

That was the tipping point. The pen that Mark had been holding in his hand snapped in half, staining his fingers with ink. There was a very thin line between letting Seán keep his delusions and being accused of such immoral crimes.

"That. Was not. Me." he snarled. "Understand?”

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, both awkwardness and guilt hanging in the air, with only the sounds of scribbling on paper--with a new pen--filling the room.

"You have been manipulated and have suffered great emotional damage. And because of that, as much as it pains me, we cannot continue this interrogation right now," Mark said in an uninterested voice. "So, for now, you're free to go home, we'll call you in a few days."

The response he got from Seán wasn't exactly what he'd expected.

"I don't want to," the Irishman stated, watching the detective with his bright eyes wide open.

"Excuse me?" Mark cocked an eyebrow, irritated at the other man's uncooperativeness.

"I-I don't want to leave yet. Let me stay here, please," Seán's voice broke mid-sentence, though a strong plea was still clear in his tone.

"You can stay here only under the condition that we carry on with the interrogation."

"So keep asking the questions you need! A-and I will answer all of them, I promise!"

The dark-haired man let out a heavy, uneven sigh and broke the eye contact.

"You need to understand that you could be holding some crucial details. That is why I need you to remember everything, and in your current state, you are clearly withholding information."

"I-I'm not! I swear I'm telling you everything, I--"

"Enough!" Mark raised his voice. "My boss is going to kill me if I don't dismiss you."

"Then don't listen to them," Seán muttered, backing off only in volume. "I've waited so patiently, please… I'm scared of being alone again."

"I'm in no position to give you emotional support, dammit!" The detective slammed his fist on the desk, various objects making clattering noises as he did. "If you don't want to go by yourself, I'll find someone to drive you home!”

"I don't want them to stare at me, I know they see me as some kind of a freak!" Despite his voice growing more desperate, the Irishman wasn't letting up even if it brought him closer to a breakdown.

Mark didn't give him a reply. He rapidly got up from the chair, sending it backwards as he stormed out of the room. He quickly found Wade chatting with some fellow policemen and grabbed him by the arm.

"You done already?" The taller man was surprised to be yanked back like that. "Did a miracle happen, or did the guy pass out?"

"Neither," the detective sent his co-worker a furious glare. "The interrogation is over and you're getting your ass back to the office."

"Uh, alright," Wade looked back at the people he'd been talking to before Mark's arrival and gave them an apologetic shrug.

Once they were back in the room, the dark-haired man asked Seán to get out of the chair and sit down in the one in the corner - after taking some papers and his coat off of it.

"So… He's leaving?" Wade was still just as confused, looking at the green-haired man.

"He's staying until I finish my work," Mark gritted out and got back to his desk.

"What? Are you serious?!" Wade's voice was so high-pitched it made the other men wince. "You can't keep him here!"

"Then go ahead and make him leave," the detective didn't even look at them, already busy with the work. Without detecting the sneer in his voice, the taller man approached Seán and tilted his head.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked in a soft voice, suspecting that Mark hadn't been exactly delicate.

To his disappointment, the Irishman didn't say anything in response. He only stared at him with eyes half-closed and a suspicious expression.

"Listen, we know a pretty good psychiatrist that can help you…" Wade cracked an awkward smile, not being sure himself what exactly was keeping McLoughlin in their office.

And again, Seán only watched him, this time baring his teeth in a scowl. When the police officer stretched out his arm carefully, to reassure the green-haired man with a touch, the other let out a low, guttural sound of warning.

"D-did he just…?!" Wade pulled his arm away, scared that he'd end up with bite marks in his skin if he was one second too late.

"Yeah," Mark groaned. "He _growls_ at people."

"Didn't seem to growl at you," the other man stared at his co-worker with a half-confused, half-scared expression.

"Growls at people who aren't me, then."

The three were interrupted by the sound of the door being opened, and a third person joined the conversation, announcing their entrance with a cheerful voice.

"Kinda like a dog."

The dark-haired detective snapped his head up.

" _Nestor,_ that's not fucking funny. Comparing a person to an animal, really?"

"S-sorry," he sputtered.

Mark was never fond of the new intern. Ethan - a blue-haired brat who was way too cheerful for the criminal affairs department - didn't have any real experience, and the only time he and Mark actually worked or talked was when their boss was giving out orders. The detective saw him as nothing more than a delivery boy.

"What are you even doing here? Get out if you came into my office just to make poor jokes," Mark seethed.

"Jeez, Mark, easy there," Wade decided to intervene before his co-worker got physical. "Though I admit, Ethan, that was a bit too far."

"O-okay, okay," the blue-haired boy lowered his head in a submissive manner. "I'm here to drop off those documents," he walked up to the detective's desk and put the papers down, immediately stepping back after doing so. The way Mark's eyes bore into him made him uncomfortable and he had the feeling that that was the other man's intention.

"What are you still here for? Out." The dark-haired man pointed at the door with his arm, hostility more evident in his voice.

" _Mark,_ " Wade whined.

"Oh, and… Inspector Scheid says he wants to see the investigation report."

The detective raked his hand through his hair with an irritated sigh.

"What's the point of making another one if they're all the same?"

"Inspector Scheid says that you don't argue with the protocol…" Ethan took a step back, seeing as his response only made Mark glare at him.

"Tell him that he can bite my ass! The fucking protocol doesn't catch the criminals, it only makes me waste my time!"

"Seriously, Mark. Calm. Down," Wade stepped in between the detective and the intern. "And, uh… Ethan?" he turned around to face the blue-haired boy. "Go tell the Inspector that he'll get the protocol by the end of the day."

The intern nodded and left in a hurry.

"Good fucking luck with filing that piece of shit, because I have more important matters at hand.” The black-haired man snorted once Ethan had gone.

"And why is that my job?" Wade exclaimed, annoyed.

"Because you were there, and you were _so_ fascinated by everything." Mark rolled his eyes and moved on. "I have to look through this shit," he picked up one of the papers Ethan had brought.

"What's that?" The taller man inquired, walking up to his co-worker's desk.

"The list of numbers tattooed on the people's wrists. The freshest bunch. Too bad they don't mean shit,” he muttered in annoyance.

"They have to, don't they?" Wade leant forward to look at the piece of paper. The detective considered pushing him off his feet for invading his working space.

"This used to be a theory like a year ago. Back when we thought we were dealing with some sort of a madman."

The other policeman looked back at Mark with confusion written all over his face.

"Are you telling me that a relentless murderer and a manipulator _isn't_ crazy?!"

"Shut the fuck up if you're going to keep your tone, Wade,” the dark-haired man growled. "He's a psychopath. He's not just mad. An insane person wouldn't be able to lead us astray like that. Tyle- _we_ would've caught him a long time ago!" The detective slammed his fist on the hardwood for the second time that day.

"Mark…" Wade finally backed away, putting his hands up defensively. "Deep breaths."

The detective mumbled something under his breath but did as he was told, calming himself down.

"So. Back to the topic, okay?" The taller man asked with a gentle smile, noticing his friend's face relax. "Is there really no connection?"

"Just look at this bunch," Mark turned the sheet around so that the other could read it clearly. "4751. 8829. 5221. 0104. It doesn't make any fucking sense."

"What if it's some kind of a code?"

"For fuck's sake… Why the fuck did they have to get me someone so unfamiliar with the case?" the dark-haired man threw his hands up in the air. "There are hundreds of the numbers in the database already! It would take an eternity to find the right order because that's how random they are! Not to mention that we don't even have all of them. At least ten percent is missing because some of the victims' bodies were unidentifiable."

They both went silent for a while before Wade let out a sigh and sat down. He fiddled with his thumbs, glancing at the small figure slumped in the corner.

"What about his?" he nodded in that direction.

"Not even a number," Mark rubbed his temples. Thinking about it all made him even more irritated-- if that was even possible. "McLoughlin!" he barked. The green-haired man immediately sat up, eyes lighting up expectantly. "Show him your tattoo."

Seán eyed the other man suspiciously before stretching his left arm out. Wade scooted over to him in his chair and carefully held his hand. The Irishman snarled again, a low grumble emitting from his throat.

"Stop," the detective narrowed his eyes, reprimanding the green-haired man. Seán shifted his gaze to him and went silent.

"Does it hurt?" Wade asked, now tracing the black outline with his index finger. The Irishman looked back at him, although still suspicious, and shook his head. The policeman pressed down, looking for any sign of discomfort on Seán's face. There seemed to be none, though the hostility in his eyes grew with each passing second.

"Do you know what it means?" Wade still kept his voice gentle, unlike Mark. He felt a bit nervous that his co-worker had violated the victim's trauma in one way or another.

The green-haired man finally pulled his arm away, whispering something. Wade cocked an eyebrow, unable to make anything out of it.

"Louder,” the detective commanded, and Seán listened to him again, nearly happily.

"I like to think it means I matter to him," he stared at Mark with a weird fondness in his eyes.

"Why is it an 'A'? Is it the first letter of his name?" Wade questioned further.

"… No," the Irishman huffed. "But… my name has an 'A' in it."

"It's the third letter, though," the policeman scrunched up his eyebrows.

"'Jack' has it as a second one," Seán supplied, shrugging and lowering his gaze to the floor.

"Hah, funny.” Wade got back to his desk and smirked at his friend. "Your name also has the second letter 'A'," he looked at Mark, who only groaned in annoyance.

"So does yours, you idiot.” The detective spoke through gritted teeth.

After a pause, his eyes widened.

"And so does _his_ nickname. Both of them."

Wade wanted to say something but Mark was quicker.

"Why the fuck is it always so obvious only after we figure this shit out?!"

"You can't be serious with this.” Wade guffawed, making a face.

"Anything's good at this point to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not too happy with this chapter. It's just a transition, to get from point A to point B. If you squint at the ending you can notice it should just go on and on and on... I had to stop somewhere.  
> Don't you worry though, we're on our way to fucked-up-ville, back to the full tour in the next chapter!


	3. I'm aware that it's a mistake if I love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't set your eyes on one thing only.  
> You may miss thousands of other, much more important ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, _the one in which Mark's moral compass goes to shit._

As Mark drove his car, speeding over the limit was the last thing on his mind. Every second of Seán's presence was more than annoying. The detective just wanted to get rid of the Irishman because he wasn't sure how much more of his stares he'd be able to handle.

Mark was lucky enough that Seán decided to be quiet the whole time, though he suspected it was just because he didn't ask him anything. McLoughlin didn't even have to tell him the address, as the detective had access to all of his personal info. So they drove in silence, interrupted only by the dark-haired man's grumbling at the traffic and the lighting of a cigarette.

Mark wasn't a typical smoker - he would smoke only when he felt stressed or angry. Well, at least he hadn't been a typical one when he was first assigned to the case. Nowadays he'd have to light at least three cigarettes daily. Not that he would admit just how much stress he was bottling up inside.

When Mark parked in front of Seán's apartment, he didn't say anything at first. He hoped that the green-haired man would get the clue and leave, preferably quickly. Though nothing wanted to go the detective's way that day and the Irishman simply kept sitting still in the passenger's seat. The small man’s head hung low, and his gaze fixed on the hands in his lap. The dark-haired man sighed in irritation and threw a cigarette stub out the window.

"Will you go by yourself, or do I have _to carry_ you there?"

Any normal person would've detected the sarcasm in his voice. But the Irishman flinched, hands curling into fists. He gulped loudly out of nerves, still not voicing his thoughts. Mark groaned and turned off the engine, leaving the car afterwards. He couldn't believe what he had gotten himself into, yet there he was, slamming open the door for McLoughlin.

"Out. Now." He growled. The detective had never been a patient one, and especially after the day’s events, he couldn't have cared less. The only thing that mattered was that Seán would still listen to his orders.

The green-haired man lead the way to the apartment because he obviously refused to budge until he saw that Mark was going as well. The detective was telling himself that he was trailing only to make sure the other reached his apartment safely and didn't decide to run off.

As Seán opened the door, he stood in the entrance for a while. Mark thought it was his chance to leave. But before he could even turn around, the Irishman finally spoke up.

"I'm s-sorry…" A sob escaped his lips. "I-It was the new place… I… I think I freaked out."

"What are you on about now?" The dark-haired man furrowed his brows.

McLoughlin turned around and looked at Mark with tear-filled eyes.

"I wasn't trying to hide anything… I…" his breaths were loud and shallow like he was about to have a panic attack. "I remember now. Everything. I'll tell you anything you want."

The detective knew he had to leave. His mind was practically screaming at him, louder with each passing second he spend on staying still. But his lips betrayed him.

"No holding back this time?"

Seán's blue eyes widened and his fingers twitched. He looked so touch-starved, it was infuriating.

"No," he whispered. "I-If I lie… Punish me."

It took Mark a while to understand the true meaning of those words. McLoughlin didn't see the detective's emotions as something as simple as annoyance or tiredness. All he ever saw was fury mixed with threats.

And so the dark-haired man stepped inside, feeling that for the very first time he could get closer to Dark without anyone getting in his way.

* * *

 "Have you ever attacked him?"

The question felt heavy in the abrupt silence that followed. Neither of the two said anything, one awaiting the answer, the other stiffening up at it. Mark felt Seán shift but didn't dare to take his eyes off the notepad. The weight on his shoulder lifted slightly before falling back down.

"I… I'd never… Do that to you…" his voice was so quiet, so scared as to whether or not that would be the correct response. The detective felt a scrawny hand squeeze his arm.

He should have never agreed to this. He was always professional, knowing that his job was unforgiving, and he needed discipline. Yet here he was, in someone else's apartment, with a total stranger cuddled up against him. The Irishman had refused to leave his side ever since he got rescued. He had wanted nothing more than to follow the dark-haired man anywhere he went, despite his many protests. And in the end, Mark still somehow ended up playing along and staying for several hours.

The detective sighed in frustration, thinking that he was being careless. Under the mask of an innocent, defenseless victim there could still be a hidden beast. And Mark had yet to see that. He pretended to jot something down, but only scrunched up his eyebrows more that just from thinking. He hated being compared to Dark. No, being mistaken for him.

_I'm not a fucking replacement._

"You know what I mean," he groaned, trying to rephrase his question. It frustrated him even more that Seán didn't mind the mixed pronouns. "Have you ever thought of hurting him back?"

The only reply he got was a scared whimper and a tightened grip on his bicep. The dark-haired man still wondered where the beast was hiding. He knew about its existence because that was the very reason they were doing the interrogation to the length of sitting down in McLoughlin’s goddamn bed.

The green-haired man had refused to speak up honestly when he was dragged down to the station. Of course, threatening him wasn't an option; he would only cower in fear. What did get a reaction out of him, however, was someone talking to Mark. Seán had clearly listened to their conversations, and whenever someone would insult the detective, or order him around, even as a joke, the Irishman would react instantly. He bared his teeth, snarled, once even nearly jumping one of the officers. Mark had him handcuffed then, but even that didn't work - the man was small, but had a shocking amount of fight in him when it came to something he cared...obsessed about.

Mark felt close to giving up on this. He wanted to be alone, to have some peace, to take a break from this hopeless and mad case. Seán's face looked so punchable sometimes, too.

 _He's your only lead, Mark,_ he would remind himself. _The only fucking lead._

So he said nothing as he wrote something else down, letting the Irishman hug his side.

* * *

Time went by fast when McLoughlin was finally opening up. His replies were bizarre sometimes, but Mark had to take everything he could. After two hours, his own questions started to drift off into wrong directions as well.

"Do you think he'll come back for you?"

Seán looked at the detective with glassy, unfocused eyes.

"But you're here already…" his voice was soft, though the tone sounded broken. "You've already come back…" he laid his head in the dark-haired man's lap again, his hand aimlessly wandering along the detective's leg.

Moments like these made Mark want to slam the Irishman against the nearest wall and break bones. Obviously, he couldn't do that. But it was getting harder to lock away the anger. His grip on the pen and notepad were getting too tight. He had even torn up one of his note sheets.

It wasn't the green-haired man's fault, no matter how much the detective wanted to find a reason to hit him. He would have to find other ways to release his bottled up feelings. McLoughlin was just a victim.

But, giving it more thought, Mark himself had become a victim as well over time. Dark used their likeness to damage his reputation among all those he'd rescued, successfully erasing any clues he'd leave behind. This case was definitely the worst example.

Seán couldn't even control it. He acted like his life depended on the dark-haired man's presence within a five-meter radius, and he was ready to fight for it, mind broken beyond repair. Although he  _was_ doing what he wanted - which consisted mostly of following Mark - the detective knew that he was secretly still awaiting orders. All those hopeful looks, slight smiles, the constant attention; they all screamed that he was ready to be _used_. It was hard not to take total advantage of that, but after so many years in his job, Mark had no problems with isolating himself.

He used to be a person that could feel compassion, love. The detective had actually been once happy with his life.

Then one day it had all just crumbled down. They'd found another set of Dark's prisoners and taken one of them to an interrogation, choosing the one that seemed to be the most confident. Despite the victim's bruises and exhaustion, she was willing to cooperate. Well, at least until she stepped into the office and her eyes landed on Mark.

She raised her finger accusingly, pointing at him.

_It's you._

Her voice was so shaky, it was a surprise she hadn't cried.

_It's you._

She ran out, and two officers had to chase after her. It was the day the sickening game set up by Dark started.

That's why now in his eyes Seán looked truly pathetic. His poor attempts wouldn't change anything in Mark's life. He himself would make sure of that.

* * *

Getting out of McLoughlin's house was hard. Waking up the next day after only four hours of sleep was even harder.

And coming to work just to be greeted by Inspector Tyler Scheid waiting in Mark's own office was absolutely the worst. His boss was sitting in the detective's own chair, looking through some reports he'd left unfinished the day before. When Mark walked into the room, Tyler didn't even look up at first.

The dark-haired man gave Wade, who was glancing at the inspector from time to time with a nervous look on his face, a confused look. He mouthed a silent "What?" but his co-worker shrugged and shook his head.

"You're late, Fischbach." Tyler finally muttered something after he put the papers away.

Mark glanced at the clock and scrunched up his brows.

"10 minutes. Really, is it _that_ bad?" Perhaps he should've tried to hide the sarcasm in his voice. But a yawn escaped his mouth and betrayed him completely.

"For someone who's usually thirty minutes too early?"

The dark-haired man rolled his eyes. The inspector sighed and slowly got up from the chair.

"Where were you yesterday?"

"At work," the detective was becoming suspicious.

"After that."

"I went back home."

"Funny," Tyler said but not even a chuckle came out of him. He'd always been a hard person to read - people hardly ever saw him express any kind of emotions; he could hide everything behind a stone-cold face. "Because you see, I stopped by your place at around 10 P.M. And the house was empty."

Mark's eyes wanted to wander around the room - a bad habit that could give away his lies. He tried his best to maintain the eye contact with his boss.

"Where I spend my time outside of work shouldn't concern you."

"Why did you stay at McLoughlin's apartment?"

The inspector was done playing games. He approached his subordinate and crossed his arms over his chest.

"He wouldn't let me go," Mark mumbled and walked over to his desk.

"Don't test me, Fischbach…"

"He's the key witness in this case," the detective paid no mind the change in his boss's voice. "He deserves the police's protection. Plus, he's suffered a great trauma that makes it impossible to conduct any other kind of interrogation. I simply accepted his polite request."

"And what would that request be?" Tyler cocked an eyebrow.

"Well… He said he had more to say." Mark chose his words carefully, though it'd never been his forte. "I was only taking notes."

"Can I see them?" The inspector insisted.

The dark-haired man didn't feel like giving him what he wanted but seeing as he'd already got on his bad side first thing in the morning left him no choice. He had the small notepad tucked in one of his back pockets. Mark huffed in annoyance and gave it to Tyler.

His boss looked through the notes, glancing up from them at his subordinate from time to time. His expression remained unchanged, though the way his eyes slowly narrowed indicated that he grew angrier. When he was done, he didn't return the notepad to Mark.

"I hope you're not serious."

"What?" The detective slightly raised his voice without thinking.

"I'm taking those away. And you," the inspector pointed at Mark. "Leave McLoughlin alone for now. Give it a rest."

The dark-haired man wanted to protest, yet all his words fell on deaf ears. Tyler left without saying anything else.

The detective sat down with a heavy, irritated groan. Silence fell in the room for a couple of minutes, before Wade cleared his throat.

"Mark… I didn't want to say this but…" His voice was quiet and unsure. The dark-haired man glared at his co-worker.

"What?" He huffed, exasperated.

"Maybe he's right…" Wade mumbled. "You shouldn't have let McLoughlin stay yesterday…"

The detective gritted his teeth and crumpled up a random piece of paper, "Shut up."

"Mark…" The other police officer wanted to say something else but the ball of paper swished right past his ear.

"Shut the fuck up and get out!"

The dark-haired man watched with furious eyes as Wade hurried out of the office.

"Fuck you all," he spat and hid his face in his hands. "I know what I'm doing. I can handle it…"

* * *

When he knocked on Seán's door the next day at midnight he wasn't sure what exactly he was trying to accomplish. Mark didn't even know what he wanted. His thoughts were all over the place and the only constant thing that was out there was calling to him to do it for himself.

That he needed to prove it to everyone, that he could win this. He was someone better than who they were taking him for. They were underestimating him.

Then McLoughlin opened the door. The detective wasn't bothered by that strange glow in the Irishman's eyes, the slight rise in the pitch of his voice when he saw the visitor. And he let him drag him inside.

Mark stopped asking questions after barely fifteen minutes. It wasn't that he didn't have anything to write the information he'd get on; Seán himself even suggested he could borrow him a piece of paper and a pen. The dark-haired man refused, feeling that he could remember everything, and that way Tyler wouldn't find anything on him. But so soon after continuing the interrogation, his mind went blank.

The green-haired man started asking his own questions in response. They were all so naive and childish. Mark would give him half-assed answers that made him happy nonetheless.

Despite such an unfortunate turn of events, the detective ended up staying for two hours again. He convinced himself he'd get enough sleep.

* * *

"Maybe you should just let it go for now, Fischbach."

Tyler visited him two days later again.

"This case is wearing you out. A break won't hurt, you know?" Although he was speaking as a concerned friend, he did throw in a bit of the commanding voice.

"Just because you did?" Mark didn't look up at his boss, rummaging through a drawer.

Tyler sighed loudly in an almost theatrical way.

"I had my reasons. And you were the best person to leave it all up to. But sooner or later you'll burn out."

"I'm so close to catching this motherfucker, I know I am," the detective rubbed his temples. "Just… Need more time."

"I'm not getting you off this case completely," the inspector put an emphasis on the last word. "I'm asking for a week."

Mark knew Tyler wouldn't reassign Dark's case to someone else just like that. The dark-haired man had always been exceptional - he quickly earned his reputation and respect. During his first visit to a crime scene under the inspector's watchful eye, he didn't even flinch at the sight of the massacre they'd found there. Some of the newcomers didn't expect so much blood, or open carcasses, and would even have to leave the scene covering their mouths. Mark simply observed everything and pointed out his observations, looked for clues. It was one of the reasons why Tyler made him his right-hand man. And the main reason why Mark, out of all people in the department, was now in charge of capturing the psychopath.

The inspector put a hand on the dark-haired man's shoulder.

"And by that, I mean get rid of that guy."

"W-what?" Mark finally looked up at him, giving him a puzzled stare. But the eyes that looked back at him were serious.

"Others may believe the whole bullshit you're selling. I don't, Fischbach. I know you went to McLoughlin's place again."

They heard a quiet gasp - with the tense atmosphere in the room it was easy for the detective to forget that his co-worker was still there.

"I--"

"I don't want your excuses. Stop taking advantage of him, because if I catch you doing this again, there will be consequences."

Tyler left the room and Mark stared at the closed door for the next five minutes, just barely keeping the fury inside. Wade had probably noticed his white knuckles from gripping the desk because he said nothing.

* * *

A day. That was how long Mark managed to take the "break" for. It felt as if some weird force was pulling him back to Seán, pushing him towards that cursed apartment.

He'd thought he was done with it. That he hated the Irishman and wanted nothing but to punch his face. But something stirred in his desolate heart whenever he'd visit. The detective decided to think it was the passion for his job. He couldn't have chosen a more obvious lie.

"Why haven't we done that yet…" Seán slurred, eyes half-lidded as he was sleepy. It only made the dark-haired man frown.

They were sitting on his bed once again. Well, Mark was sitting and the green-haired man was lying with his head in the other's lap.

"Done what?"

The Irishman's hand crawled up the detective's thigh, resting dangerously close to his crotch. Mark guessed what the other meant and decided it was time to take control of the situation. He snatched both of Seán's wrists and pinned them to the bed.

"Fucking start thinking already!" He snarled, sometimes feeling so done with McLoughlin's behaviour. "You're not a damn sex toy anymore!"

The detective wasn't sure himself why he changed their positions so suddenly, now hovering over the smaller man. Seán on the other hand still had that dreamy look in his eyes, though now a new emotion emerged in them - he pouted and looked hurt.

"I-it's because I haven't been good enough, right? I don't deserve a reward…"

Mark's eyes widened and he gritted his teeth. It repulsed him to even think about what kind of sick abuse Dark had used to play with his victim. No matter how much the green-haired man would beg, the detective was simply too furious with the psychopath to care. The criminal had set it all up perfectly - despite everything Seán had still not given Mark anything useful to work with. The dark-haired man squinted his eyes, watching as the other squirmed under him. Dark must've known. He had somehow made sure that McLoughlin wouldn't say a thing.

Then an idea popped up in the detective's head. It was disgusting and Mark shuddered at the possibility of having to do it, yet he asked:

"I wonder if there's actually another way to make you talk?"

The answer that came out of Seán's mouth was exactly what the detective had expected, and didn't want to hear.

"I miss it… I'm so selfish, I'm sorry…" he whispered, closing his eyes as he let himself get lost in the thoughts. But then he replied eagerly. "Yes, please!"

Mark's mouth went dry. There it was. McLoughlin had to know something, anything. Yet he was still not telling him.

"Why don't you remind me… About… The last time?" The words felt like a bile in his throat, he could barely stutter them out.

"… Why are you so nervous?"

Seán opened his eyes, suddenly changing the topic.

"It doesn't matter. Just tell me!" Anger slipped out but the hesitation was there as well, and the detective didn't manage to hide it.

"It's those people, isn't it?" The Irishman bit his bottom lip and held it between his teeth for a while. "They're trying to take me away from you." His chest fluttered from anxiety and his voice turned to whisper again. "They don't know anything."

The unexpected protest surprised Mark, he loosened the grip on Seán's wrists. He was so close to telling him that Dark had never loved him, that it all was just a fantasy, something his own mind had made up to cope with the abuse. And most importantly, that the dark-haired man was not the one he took him for.

But once again, he just wasn't able to say it because McLoughlin had the answers Mark was so desperately looking for. Somewhere along the way, it'd stopped being a relieving clue, the missing piece in his work; now it had turned into shackles that trapped him there with Seán, a vicious circle of having to pretend to be Dark and reminding him that the abuser was gone.

It was the last thing he could do, the last thing he  _s_ _hould_ do, but he couldn't let the murderer escape from him any longer. A part of him was thankful for the Irishman's poor choice of the place - nobody seemed to care about any kind of noises in this building. The detective leant in, their faces now so close their noses almost touched. He had to wear a mask of somebody else, so he abandoned the "hardworking, stone-cold officer" role and put up the face Seán wanted him to show so badly.

"They don't have a word to say in how I handle my things. Now, will you tell me or do I have to convince you that you do want to speak? We have a rather long night ahead of us."

His voice dropped so low, the green-haired man sucked in the air and shuddered under him. A sly smile crept up on his lips. He wasn't going to turn to violence, no matter how much his fists itched; talking and facial expressions were his only weapons against the walls in Sean's broken mind.

Mark's eyes lit up as they stared into the ocean blue underneath. But they weren't Dark's. They didn't glow with fury or lust.

All there was in that moment, was pure self-hate.

* * *

The next morning he was woken up by a call. Before he even saw the caller, he glanced at the clock. 9 A.M. He was supposed to show up for work at 8. Not that he particularly cared in that moment.

It wasn't Wade who called him, though. The screen displayed the last name the detective wanted to see.

_Tyler Scheid_

Mark declined the call after staring at the ringing phone for too long.

The sleeping figure next to him shifted, and Seán opened one eye with a yawn.

"Do you… Need to leave?"

The dark-haired man didn't reply. He got out of the bed, picking his clothes up from the floor. He'd get to the office in an hour, much too late. But he didn't feel like giving a fuck about anything, honestly. Not after the last night.

When he was in his car, lighting a cigarette before starting the engine, the feeling of sickness came over him. He was disgusted with himself, with his choices.

It felt like he'd just left a love hotel, maybe even the cheapest in town if he didn't have to pay. Like he'd just got a quick fuck, a rebound with a chick that just happened to have the same hair colour as his ex.

Except that in this case, Mark took on the role of the whore.

* * *

"Fischbach!"

This time, the detective avoided his boss's gaze on purpose. But Tyler was having none of that, as he hit his subordinate's desk to get his attention.

"Look me in the eyes when I'm talking to you."

Mark slowly met the other's stare. For the very first time, he was sure he heard _anger_ in the inspector's voice. Normally he'd probably be surprised or even a bit proud that he managed to break his composure. But he couldn't think clearly about anything that day.

"One more time… One more time and you'll be handing this case to someone else sooner that you'd like it."

Tyler didn't have to be specific. They both knew that the detective understood everything.

"That's stupid."

"Seven days. I don't want to see you neither here, nor at McLoughlin's place for seven days."

Mark let out a breathless chuckle.

"Are you forcing me to take a whole week off?"

"Asking you clearly didn't work," the inspector huffed. "You weren't so stubborn back when I assigned you to this case."

"I was just getting started." The detective rolled his eyes. "And that's the most idiotic thing you've said ever since you resigned from it yourself."

"Maybe. But that doesn't change the fact that you can't give it a rest even when you have to," Tyler retorted. "You've been on it for years, it's enough."

"I'm not giving up, not when I've finally got a lead," Mark clenched his jaw.

"I don't want to see you step off the right path."

The room went silent for a while and the detective had to light a cigarette out of frustration. As he drew the first drag, his boss spoke up again.

"If you aren't letting it up, then at least I'll arrange a visit in doctor Hansen's office for you."

Mark nearly bit down on the cigarette. "What the hell are you suggesting right now?"

"Sometimes people change under pressure and work," the inspector said it like it was nothing. "Isn't that obvious?"

"If you're insinuating here that I'm going insane…" Mark's hand curled into a fist. Tyler noticed that and let out a long sigh.

"I'm just worried it may be not only about appearance. You've become too confident, and it's scaring the people you're supposed to be saving."

"My job isn't to save people."

No matter how much Tyler would try to convince Mark to his beliefs, they both knew it never worked. They were way too different people. The inspector left in silence once more, only throwing one more sentence before shutting the door.

"I was serious about that break. Don't you dare come tomorrow."

* * *

Three days passed and Mark found himself standing in front of McLoughlin's door once again. This time he truly had no reason to go back.

But that ugly, stubborn part of his brain told him he had to. He had to make sure this little Irishman wouldn't run away with all of his hints and clues. And even though the detective hadn't seen them yet, he was so sure they existed.

And so he knocked on the hardwood and waited. There was a pause, then some rustling on the other side. The door opened and a very confused Seán greeted him.

"You're back… so soon?"

Mark narrowed his eyes. He asked his question slowly, carefully.

"Soon?"

"You were here yesterday. Are you… Are you playing with me again? That you don't remember?"

It couldn't be. The detective hadn't even been in the area for three days. _Three._ But McLoughlin's honest expressions couldn't lie.

And that could mean only one thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me for the cliffhanger. I could either end it here or on a worse one.  
> Again, prepare for the shit to go down in the last chapter! I sure will enjoy it :)
> 
> No, I totally did not upload it again because something was wrong with the update.


	4. Entropy wouldn't leave you to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You should have seen it coming the moment you've made the very first mistake.  
> Some people just aren't made for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the final chapter... Buckle the fuckle up.

"What the fuck did you just say?!" Mark grabbed McLoughlin by his shirt and slammed him against the nearest wall. To hell with discretion. His blood was boiling!

"Y-y-you were here…" Seán's voice was weak. The hit had most likely pushed air out of his lungs. "J-j-just yesterday…"

"Tell me everything! Right fucking now!"

The detective couldn't believe what he was hearing. He felt furious with himself and the Irishman that was squirming under his hold. Though the victim still seemed not to find enjoyment in being manhandled, whimpering when Mark let him go.

"I-I don't really get this g-game, but yesterday you stopped pretending you couldn’t remember…" McLoughlin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "You knew everything."

"I'm done playing around!" The dark-haired man slammed the door shut, as some curious neighbours started to peek out of their apartments. "How the fuck did he get here?! And what the hell did he say?!" He didn't even care about the pronouns anymore. He'd sooner punch McLoughlin's stomach than put up the stupid act in the moment.

"… He?" Seán furrowed his brows, though his expression looked more worried than his voice would suggest. "Can you… Can you stop… doing that…? Makes you sound… weird."

Mark let out a groan of irritation. He ran his hand through the black hair, thinking quickly of what to say.

"Let's just fucking pretend I'm going mad here. But I need you to repeat _every single thing."_ He glared at the Irishman, hoping it would still scare him. McLoughlin was getting more and more cocky with him, and it wasn't doing anything in his favour. The detective sat down on a chair and stared at the floor.

"Y-you said you'd come back for me soon… A-and asked to deliver a message…"

The dark-haired man's head shot upward at those words.

"What message?"

Seán began to fidget nervously. His expression turned into a shameful one, and he refused to meet Mark's gaze.

"I-I'm supposed to give s-something to…"

"Who?" The detective snarled. "What do you have?"

The green-haired man approached him hesitantly, finally moving from that one place he'd been frozen in all this time. Mark heard him mumble something, barely able to make out the words.

"I-I'll try my b-best, d-d-don't hit me…"

And with that, the Irishman sat down in Mark's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. The detective already felt like pushing him off and leaving the apartment. He couldn't help but feel the sting of hypocrisy to that action though, considering how far he had already crossed the line. Something whispered at the back of his head, that if he wouldn't like it, there was always the option of beating the shit out McLoughlin. After all, the trembling man had asked for it. Mark pushed those thoughts into the deepest corners of his mind - he may be barely able to surpass his anger, but he wouldn't give in to his violent tendencies.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he felt Seán's lips on his. It's not like they hadn't kissed before - the younger man had done that a couple of times, with the detective never reciprocating the kisses. But most of the time they were quick and chaste, and would always make Mark's hand itch to slap the other’s stupid face. This time it was different. The green-haired man's breaths turned shallow and heavy when he pulled the detective into a deep kiss, forcing his way into the other's mouth.

The dark-haired man felt sick in his stomach. That ugly voice in his mind, the one he didn't want to hear, was begging him to enjoy himself. He wanted to yell at it to shut up, to kick it out of his head. Still, it refused to be silenced. And so he had to sit down there, repulsed by the types of intimate actions he wanted to forget about ever since what happened four days earlier. He kept playing along for the sake of… he didn't know what exactly anymore. Somewhere along the way the poor footholds of "clues" and "leads" had become a mindless mantra.

Seán pushed his tongue into Mark's mouth, his kisses wet and sloppy. The detective was downright repulsed, and if it had to last any longer, he was sure he wouldn't be able to stop a spasm or a retch. He was spared further unpleasant sensations as he felt something else enter his mouth. The green-haired man pulled away and panted, his face pink and expression pathetic. The detective didn't need to take a second look at those eyes - McLoughlin could try to pretend to be ashamed of what he'd done, but he must've enjoyed it.

Mark spat out the item that the other had “given” to him. He wiped his mouth, thinking about lighting a cigarette to get rid of the foul aftertaste.

"What the fuck is this?" As he stared at the object, he felt the Irishman get up. Seán was eyeing him curiously.

"I-I d-don't know, y-you never tell me." He shrugged. Judging by his expression, he was waiting expectantly for the detective to inspect the item.

It was a small plastic vial, just like the one he'd gotten from McLoughlin the day he'd been found. It did feel slightly disgusting to touch the object covered in saliva, so Mark grabbed a piece of cloth lying on the table to wipe it. He broke it in half without a second thought.  Just as he expected, he found a note inside.

_Thank you for taking care of my little thing. Sadly, I'll be taking it back soon._

_Send my regards to the good Inspector. Were it not for his poor choice, this game would've never lasted so long. I hope you're having just as much fun._

The detective crumpled the piece of paper up immediately, throwing it into a corner.

"Don't you dare leave this place," he growled at Seán as he stood up, then stormed out of the building. The moment he was out, he dialled the police station.

"I need four men by McLoughlin's apartment this instant."

Mark would never admit to losing a game, and he sure as hell wasn’t accepting this defeat.

* * *

The dark-haired man was pacing in front of the building nervously. Honestly, he felt like punching a wall. The anger had only been accumulating within him ever since he got that cursed piece of information from McLoughlin.

 _He's coming. That motherfucking piece of shit is coming_.

The detective kept eyeing everyone on the streets, not bothered by the fact that he was making everyone uncomfortable and suspicious of him. He may have had policemen stationed on positions in the building, but knowing how unpredictable the criminal was, Mark wouldn't be surprised if Dark just waltzed right in through the front door. And that's why he himself waited outside. He wouldn't let him in.

People turned their gazes away, feeling the detective's steely gaze tear them apart. Children ran away worried, women whispered to one another, some men scrunched up their faces. Mark didn't care. He scanned the crowd for only one single person.

For his twisted reflection.

He saw a police car appear on the horizon, soon to stop in front of him. Someone nearly jumped out of the vehicle through the passenger's door. The dark-haired man grumbled when he recognised the person as Inspector Scheid.

"What the actual fuck are you doing, Fischbach?" Although he didn't sound vehemently angry, Tyler was clearly displeased.

"Boss," Mark sighed. "He's going to return. Here. For McLoughlin."

"You're kidding, right?” The inspector looked at him in disbelief. "Is that why you're ordering my men around like that? Because you have some kind of suspicion?"

"It's not a suspicion!" The detective yelled, earning the two even more looks from the pedestrians.

"Quiet," Tyler hissed, grabbing his subordinate by the shoulder and pushing him inside the building. "Calm down and explain.”

"He left a fucking note! That bastard came back!"

"So you disregarded my orders and came back yourself."

Mark cursed himself for not biting his tongue before. Though it was all obvious anyway.

"I will take a goddamn off if you just listen to me!"

"Then where is the note?" The inspector raised an eyebrow.

The dark-haired man's hands balled up into fists, his nails sinking into the palms.

"I left it in McLoughlin's apartment," he admitted, a hint of guilt in his voice.

"You acted on impulse. _Again_." Tyler lowered his voice and sighed in disappointment. "We're going back to the station. I should've known. You and this case were getting out of hand months ago.”

"But--"

"No 'buts', Fischbach. We're going to have a long discussion about your position as a detective once we're in my office. And if you want to consider any position at all, you'll do well to follow me. Understand?"

Mark still wanted to protest, though he knew well that he'd just be making his own case worse. So he muttered in agreement. Before his boss could tell him to get in the car, they heard a scream. A _familiar_ scream.

The detective was the first one to the stairs, running up to the Irishman's apartment. He prayed for the police officers to have caught Dark. If they did, he could prove everything to the inspector. He could finally show the world what he--what _Dark_ was capable of.

However, as soon as he reached the floor, he saw a dead body in a uniform splayed in front of Seán's door. The policeman had his neck twisted, the horror in his eyes clearly showing he had seen his end coming. Mark froze in place, his hand already reaching for his gun. He vaguely heard Tyler's voice shouting after him as he stalked up to the entrance.

"… But now you're coming with me. I think we both have had enough fun here…" A gravelly voice sounded just in front of the body, through the bedroom door.

His hand rested on the door handle and he stopped again. That voice. Fuck, it _did_ sound a bit like him if he tried. How infuriating. He took a deep breath and slid the gun out of its holster. The detective swung the door open, pointing the weapon inside and yelling.

"Freeze! Hands where I can see them!"

The reply he got was an emotionless chuckle.

McLoughlin stood there with a knife pressed against his throat. His expression was one of pure, mindless terror, tears in the corners of his eyes as he saw Mark.

Behind him, the detective saw _that_ man - the shadow he'd been chasing for so long. And his first thought was, _He's nothing like me_. Perhaps he was expecting some sort of an evil twin, himself from a parallel universe. This person was much, much more than that. Darker hair, brighter eyes - they hadn't lied about the red colour - taller body… Even the voice was deeper, and the resolve in his gaze stronger. Without a flinch at being held at gunpoint, he leant forward, resting his chin on the smaller man's shoulder.

"Well, technically, you can see exactly where I keep them," he replied nonchalantly to Mark's order, the hand that didn't hold the knife squeezing on Seán's hip, pulling him back.

"See, I told you company would be coming soon." Dark was ignoring the detective and talking to his victim. "But one more piece is missing."

"Fischbach, for fuck's sake!" A yell came from the hallway. "I swear if you do anything in there-!" Shortly after, Tyler ran into the apartment, stopping when he saw the scene.

"Ah, there we go." The criminal lifted his head and glared at the inspector. "Your knight has acted quite rogue again, hasn't he?"

Mark's hands were shaking, but he didn't dare to lower them, aiming straight at his tormentor’s head.

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"I'm not talking to _you_ , so be quiet," Dark snarled and put more pressure on McLoughlin's throat, which resulted in the green-haired man mixing a choked cough and a whimper.

The inspector took a step forward, putting a hand on his subordinate's shoulder. Mark understood what he meant, but had no intention of putting the gun away.

"It's none of your concern who I put my trust in.” Tyler kept a straight face. It was admirable how collected he could stay in every sort of scenario.

"Oh, but it most certainly is. You know how much I _despise_ unworthy opponents." the dark-haired criminal smirked, though it looked more like an animalistic grin. "Letting him command your pawns hasn't been the wisest of moves."

"Stop with this bullshit. You and I both know you don't have the patience for a game like chess."

That sentence made Mark shift his gaze, ever so slowly,  to his boss. What was that supposed to mean, ‘you and I’? Why was Tyler speaking as if he knew the other? Wasn't it their first meeting? He wanted to speak up, but Dark noticed him parting his lips and cut in again.

"Maybe I don't. But I still enjoy comparing our little rivalry to one."

The detective couldn't keep listening without doing something.

"Let him go you bastard!" He shouted, feeling annoyed at how the inspector wasn't doing anything and how they both just ignored him. His boss's hand now tightened on his arm, silently pleading with him to lower the weapon.

"And seeing everyone around you as your pieces? It's not going to work forever, you know that.”

"You're right." Dark mused, watching the anger rise on Mark's face. Although he had started cutting into McLoughlin's skin, the Irishman didn't make any louder noises than those pretty whines. "It's not my fault they act so well as pawns."

Tyler blanched when he saw blood trickle down from an open wound on Seán's throat.

"I, personally, prefer knights. They're so… unpredictable." The criminal kept talking with his twisted smile. "Like our good detective here. All this time chasing a shadow, convincing himself he's the king of the chessboard."

"Fischbach, you have to leave." The inspector suddenly said.

"Are you fucking mad, Scheid?!" The finger on the gun's trigger was itching to be pulled. Mark just wanted to shoot Dark and be done with this nightmare.

"Stay out of this.” Tyler snapped. "You've had your chance, now it's time to hand it back to someone who's actually capable of handling this."

"He's a motherfucking psychopath! You can't negotiate with him!"

"I said, step the fuck back!" The inspector raised his voice when he saw Mark's hands tremble from the fury. His grip on the detective's arm turned to iron and he pulled downward, forcing him to stop aiming at the people on the opposite side of the room.  

Mark’s finger slipped on accident. He didn't mean to actually shoot. But a gunshot rang out nonetheless. The next sound in the room was a painful shriek.

"Maybe you really _should_ listen to what the Inspector has to say here, _Mark_ ," Dark said in a mocking voice.

He was still holding McLoughlin like before, with the knife cutting into the green-haired man's throat. But now the smaller man had more wounds - blood painted the shirt he wore red on the side.

And then the detective heard the clicking sound of a reloading gun. But he wasn't holding the weapon anymore. It was pointing at him.

"You've hurt a civilian one too many times, Fischbach." Tyler wasn't looking at him, yet his hand was perfectly still as it held the gun. "Leave right this instant. I'm going to deal with you later."

"What… The fuck is going on here?!" Mark hated the feeling of helplessness that swept over him. He wanted to do something - Dark was right there. But suddenly, he realised the path to catching him wasn't so easy. He had to get so close just to realise there was this enormous obstacle that was impossible to avoid.

"I gave you a fucking order," the inspector wasn't fond of repeating himself. He knew that.

He couldn't believe anything that was happening. His legs moved on their own, leading him out of the room, down the stairs to the street. His footsteps were heavy and slow.

_Scheid said he'd never seen Dark before._

He avoided people's stares, his eyes cast to the ground. It was all too confusing. So many questions popped up in his mind and he couldn't sort them out.

_Scheid said that capturing Dark was the top priority._

Sure, the detective disregarded some orders and acted on his own. But in the end, it all proved to mean something. At least he saw it that way. He could be wrong.

_Scheid said that it was all up to me now._

He couldn't find any answers. Going through all the conversations in his memories, he had absolutely no hints, no clues whatsoever.

_Scheid said…_

Mark stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide open. There was a connection he was not aware of. There _had to_ be. He turned around and dashed right back to the building. He ran down the street as fast as he could. It didn't matter to him that he'd get fired anymore. He'd never forgive himself for giving up like that. Even if it meant that his boss would shoot him. He was done for, anyway.

He was sure he hadn't walked that far away from McLoughlin's apartment, though going back proved to be much longer than he'd anticipated. He lost the track of time when he lost himself in the questionable thoughts. And when he reached the place again, he realised he was too late. Tyler was leaving the building as he saw the door open.

"… Where are they?" Mark asked breathlessly.

The inspector motioned to the car that had been parked in front of the entrance this whole time. The detective didn't move, clenching his fists.

"Where. Are. They, Scheid?"

"My office. Now." Tyler's voice left no room for the argument.

"You've let them go?!" Mark snapped, shouting on top of his lungs. Some people gave him questioning looks, but after seeing his furious expression, they quickly minded their own business.

The inspector got in the car without another word. They weren't having this conversation on the street.

* * *

"You're out, Fischbach."

Mark stared at his boss, unmoving. They were in the inspector's office, sitting on opposite sides of the desk. The detective was staring at the other with something that could only be described as killing intent, and even that didn't faze him.

"I said, you're fired," Tyler said with a heavy sigh. "I am sorry to say this to one of my best men but I couldn't let that one slide."

"I know." Mark gritted his teeth. "Just wondering why you didn't do that earlier since that motherfucker was clearly telling you what to do."

"You've hurt a civilian one too many times." The inspector repeated his previous line, ignoring the snarky comment.

"He wasn't innocent either."

"What now?" Tyler squinted his eyes suspiciously. "He was drugged and manipulated. Don't make a victim responsible for his abuser's actions."

"He told me, Scheid. He fucking admitted to killing people with a smile on his face."

"And when would that be? When you two fucked?" Mark's boss was slowly losing his cool. "Do you have no shame, Fischbach? You're lucky I decided to only fire your sorry ass!"

The detective was silent, feeling as every single word he heard would only make him angrier and angrier.

"I hope you’re fucking proud of yourself," Tyler seethed, continuing his talk. "You didn’t give a fuck about my warnings, did you?!"

It was so strange to see the inspector get angry. Over all the years Mark had known him, he’d never heard him raise his voice like that. He didn’t feel like responding.

"Well, don’t you have some _clever_ remarks to make?"

Of course he wasn’t proud of himself. He’d never meant to actually shoot at that moment but it happened nonetheless. There was no turning back. And that meant, he wouldn’t just sit back and take all the berating.

"I fucked up, so what?!" The detective burst out, slamming a fist on the desk. "We had him right there. What did _you_ do?!"

The inspector didn't reply, breaking the eye contact.

"Why?!" Mark shouted, unable to keep his voice down. He needed the answers.

"You're lucky, Fischbach." Tyler was suddenly so quiet. "You don't have a family."

"W-what?" The detective choked on his words. That was unexpected. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you think I wanted to leave this case?" His boss whispered. "He gave me no choice, Fischbach. That's why I chose you. He'd never find anything to hold you down."

"You can't fucking mean…" Mark felt that he was like a ticking time bomb, ready to start yelling again.

"It's not just me, don't get the wrong idea." Tyler continued. "I wouldn't have stopped if it was only about me. But there's just too much at stake here."

"So what, it's either me or your wife? Kids?"

"You or much, much more."

Silence fell between them, though the tension was still in the air.

"Answer me one question," the detective breathed heavily. "Have you two ever met before?"

The inspector furrowed his brows, though he gave him a nod as a positive reply. They were quiet once again for a couple of minutes before the dark-haired man muttered under his breath.

"I should’ve just killed them both right there and then."

Hearing that, Tyler got up and handed his now former subordinate a piece of paper.

"What the fuck is this?" Mark stared at the note in hand.

"An appointment. Technically, I'm not your boss anymore so I can't force you to go see a psychiatrist but I still took the liberty of scheduling a visit for you."

The dark-haired man did indeed recognise doctor Hansen's signature on the paper right under the date and time of the appointment. That pissed him off, he was too frustrated about the situation. Mark tore the note into tiny scraps nearly in a theatrical way, showing it off to Tyler before throwing the handful into the trash.

"I'll call her the very next day," the inspector warned. "And if I hear that you didn't show up, I'm going to charge you with enough offenses to put you in jail till the rest of your life. You've broken more than enough laws and rights for me to build a solid case."

"You dare to speak all high and mighty when you yourself allowed a relentless killer to get away?!"

Mark stormed out of the office, only hearing a sigh from the other man before the door was slammed hard enough to nearly fall out of the hinges.

So what if his life was in shambles? So what if he lost his job? So what if people wouldn't have respect for him anymore?

He'd find another way. He wasn't going to leave it this way. And nobody would stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me some time to write, mostly because there were three very important scenes that I was afraid of screwing up.  
> I'm proud of what I've done here, although as I post it I can't help but feel extremely anxious whether you guys will like where I'm going with the story. Also, I made sure this twist was rather unpredictable, though you never know if you didn't overdo it.  
> Now I can say we're halfway through our adventure!  
> The next part is coming pretty soon, and we're back at Jack's POV... A word of warning: we'll be back at the E rating :P
> 
> Chapter titles come from the song [In the arms of a stranger by Mike Posner](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9vO5pk4Ytg)


	5. Please Read This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

I don't have a better way of contacting with the readers and this is a very important question.

So... some things have happened. Not gonna say what made me think this way or who's responsible for my inner turmoil but I've realised this story is... bad. On a lot of levels. Maybe not in writing itself if so many people enjoy it.  
But the subjects I've picked for it... They're horrible. And I'm conflicted right now.

I also question whether anybody is still interested in the continuation. There are supposedly two more works in the series to be written but is there a point to it if there's nobody that actually wants to read?

Should I continue the series, or not?

Answer either here, in the comments, or on tumblr (mantianti)


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